


Bad Catch

by mathildia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gang Rape, Homophobia, M/M, Queer Bashing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathildia/pseuds/mathildia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the World Cup, the rest of the team are very disappointed that Viktor caught the snitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Catch

**Author's Note:**

> I've found my old fanfiction. Posting a few things.

After some more ungratefully received attention from the medi-wizards, Viktor Krum, nose now repaired and black eyes still blossoming, sauntered into the changing room. And despite the fact that he, the star player, had caught the Snitch in the World Cup Final with a rather spectacular display of flying, none of his team mates even looked up. Jealous, he thought as he found himself a quiet corner and began to strip for the showers.

Dimitrov was making himself even more porcine than usual by grunting and snuffling as he struggled with the runner’s up bottle of champagne. Eventually it released with a loud pop, making the pig like creature curse as it overflowed, spurting its precious contents onto the mud streaked floor. Righting the bottle and jamming him thumb into the neck, Dimitrov salvaged as much as he could then began filling seven rainbow coloured glasses, licking spilt liquid from his free hand and arm as he did so.

A moment later the rest of the team drifted over to collect their glass, so Viktor bundled a towel around his waist and shuffled up to get his. As his fingers closed around the blue stem, however, it was batted out of his hand with a grunting laugh and smashed against the tiles. Viktor’s bare feet twitched gingerly. He was standing in a mess of mud, split champagne and broken glass. Then he looked up and met Dimitrov’s little black eyes.

Levski appeared at Dimitrov’s elbow. “That’s right Dimi. He doesn’t deserve that. Do you Krum?”

“What?” Viktor scowled, looking sourly from face to face before turning away, and finding Ivanova, Zograf and the rest of the team blocking his path. Ivanova jabbed an accusing finger into Viktor’s chest. He rolled his eyes in bold pretence. Another Feint.

But it couldn’t work twice.

A low, low snarl: “What the fuck did you catch that Snitch for you stupid little cunt. What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

“I had had enuff,” Viktor spluttered. “I had no choice. Iff I hadn’t caught it Lynch would have. We had already lost it. You jokers lost us the match. Not me.”

“Fuck’s sake, anyone would think you were the only player in this team,” said Levski reddening at the jowls as he jabbed again with a stout finger, “I knew all those stupid posters of your ridiculous face would go to your fucking head, it’s disgusting.”

“Yeah,” sneered another, less imaginative, voice, and then another, and a swift chaser’s hand reached out and pulled Viktor’s towel from his hips, leaving him naked in front of his tormentors.

“Hey,” he cried, whirling round and trying to snatch back the towel, but it was whipped out of his closing fingers with shouts and threats as the angry circle closed in. And then he had other problems to worry about as a heavy fist landed in square in his gut.

More arms held him still and upright, while a frantic rain of blows found every inch of him. He kicked and twisted, but there were so many of them and, cunning and quick as he was, every time he wriggled free there were more thick hairy arms to pin him back in place.

A fist met his cheek and he felt something break inside his mouth, filling it with blood.

And at the same time Volkov, who was pining his arms behind him, suddenly announced: “You do all know he’s a filthy little queer too, don’t you.”

Levski suddenly moved uncomfortably close, a nasty smile on the edges of his mouth. ”Really. I did think he always seemed rather curious in the showers. I did think it was because he was just a little boy and wanted to see what a real man’s dick looked like.”

“Well,” Volkov sneered, “he didn’t stop with at looking with me. The little shit tried to touch me up.”

“You dirty little bitch.”

“Liar!” Viktor spat. “I wouldn’t want to touch you, Volkov.” But his words were muffled by his fast swelling mouth and no one was listening anyway.

“You know,” said Dimitrov, “as he is a queer, we should see what he is like at sucking cock.”

Questioning looks flashed between Viktor’s tormentors as they appeared to decide on how they should react to this suggestion. And then it seemed to be agreed wordlessly because the heavy Beater hands on his shoulders were forcing him down onto his knees on the grimy floor and Dimitrov was in front of him, wrenching his robes aside to liberate an angry looking erection.

Viktor stared at it, horrified to find tears prickling his eyes. “No, no, no, I won’t” he spluttered, trying not to open his mouth as he spoke and shaking his head violently from side to side.

“Come on,” sneered a voice above him, “Don’t pretend. We know you want it and you know what to do. Suck it.” Dimitrov’s cock nudged at Viktor’s face, enveloping him in a cloud of pheromones, heavy with the scent of arousal.

A voice said “Some one get a wand. We can Crucio him until he does it.”

“No!” he shouted, then said softly “no,” as slowly, resignedly, he began to open his blood-caked mouth.

Without even giving Viktor a chance to breathe Dimitrov rammed his cock inside as soon as he was able. He forced himself straight down Viktor’s throat so hard he barely managed to keep from puking. With his head held fast in position and his arms pined behind his back, he was helpless to resist it. And as the cock in his mouth began to pump, suffocating and hard, he felt tears begin to run down his cheeks, stinging his newly repaired nose.

“You like this don’t you?” whispered a hard voice above him. “You love to suck cock, you greedy little queer boy.”

Viktor cursed and grunted an angry denial, but all that was audible was a muffled “mmmphf.”

“Well lets see how much he’s enjoying himself,” said another voice, this one sounded rough and thick as if its owner just as aroused as Dimitrov. A hand reached down between Viktor’s legs and grasped his flaccid cock painfully. “He doesn’t seem very excited, perhaps he needs a little stimulation.” The blood was roaring in Viktor’s ears. He couldn’t tell who was speaking, or whose hand was now massaging his cock roughly. But he was slowly getting hard and that was more than he could bear.

Without thinking about the consequences he bit down on the cock in his mouth as sharply as he could.

The scream he heard quickly became angry shouts. And then he was on his back on the floor and the blows were harder this time, kicks to the groin and the kidneys, and the head. Arms holding, spreading him, so he couldn’t curl up to protect himself. He felt his nose break again and all he could see, whether his eyes were open or closed, was blood. His blood.

And then they turned him over.

On his hands and knees on the slimy red floor, a hand appeared in front of his face. “Spit on it.” From the voice and the big flat palm, Viktor guessed it was either Volkov or Vulchanov. Vulchanov had the biggest cock of the two of them, but there wasn’t much in it. Beaters were always big boys. Viktor spat.

Moments later something prodded tentatively at him once or twice. He instinctively struggled and shied away, before firm hands were tighter on his thighs and waist, holding him still. Yet more hands were on his arse then, pulling him helplessly open. And then he screamed and squeezed his eyes tight shut as something that felt impossibly large was forced artlessly inside him.

He screamed again and again, as loudly as he could and then managed to mutter: “Please, no, no.” Before a hand jammed itself over his mouth and a voice in his ear hissed: 

“Oh no, needn’t think you’re going to cry out for the coach now, little boy.”

There was no way out. Viktor was dimly aware of grunts and moans around him and then something warm splattering onto his back and then it happened again, onto the back of his head. Semen. He could smell it, over the sweat, and the blood, and the shit. It was all over him. Pooling on the floor. Stiffening in his hair. Running into his eyes.

And all the while the cock inside him felt like it would split him right open. Felt like it would bury itself so deep and hard he would feel it in his throat. Felt like it would never end.

But, eventually there was a grunt and an extra deep thrust and it withdrew painfully. He could feel the semen dripping out of him.

But it wasn’t over. Hands still held his sticky body where it was. He could hear heavy breathing all around him. A hand wound itself in his semen matted hair and jerked his head up. Opening his eyes, he found he was looking Dimitrov in the face. The enormous man’s other hand was the one still stopping his mouth. “Well, you needn’t think I’m stupid enough to put this into your dirty mouth again,” he snapped, with a jerk of his hips, which sent his hard cock slamming against Viktor’s bruised cheek. “But you’re still going to swallow for me.”

Dimitrov took his right hand away from Viktor’s mouth, but kept his left one tightly tangled in his hair, and began to stroke himself, less than an inch from Viktor’s upturned face. The vicious expression staring down at him was enough to keep Viktor from trying to call for help again. Dimitrov shuddered, his hand moving faster and faster. “Open your fucking mouth.”

Viktor did so with no heart to fight any longer. Someone laughed nastily. Someone else said: “Look, look how greedy he still is for it.” And then Dimitrov arched and his fist twisting in Viktor’s hair. Viktor screamed in pain and white ribbons of come shot from Dimitrov’s cock, landing on Viktor’s face, a little of it hitting it’s target of Viktor’s mouth.

With an expression of disgust Dimitrov let go of Viktor’s hair, allowing him to fall onto the floor, where he curled up in a little ball. “

There was a moment's silence, no sounds but heavy breathing. Viktor waited, wondering if it was over, pulling himself tighter into himself.

The sudden voice then was familiar, and not exactly a surprise. “What the hell is going on in here?” Viktor looked up. The entire group had frozen in tableau at the sudden intrusion. “Well?”

Glances were exchanged around the circle, then Levski said in a low threatening voice: “Get out Karkaroff. School’s out, remember?”

Viktor heard footsteps clicking on the tiled floor as Karkaroff approached. “Well Mr Levski,” he said in a soft level tone, “you might not be a pupil of mine anymore, and I assure you that I am as grateful for that as you, however, Mr Krum is still very much my ward. And his welfare is my concern.” With a tap of his cane Karkaroff parted the malicious little group and held a hand out to Viktor, who grasped it, gratefully. “Come along boy, let’s find another room for you to change in. And as for the rest of you, I don’t know why you’re wasting your time here. Coach is waiting for you. He plans to introduce you to the Veelas.”

**Author's Note:**

> http://mathildia.tumblr.com/


End file.
